


what else had i to do but love you (though i am no wilde and you are no poe)

by ohmymaple71



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Mafia AU, Marriage, timelapse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 03:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12123195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmymaple71/pseuds/ohmymaple71
Summary: A wander through time, from the start to the present.(Mafia AU.)





	what else had i to do but love you (though i am no wilde and you are no poe)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leftid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftid/gifts).



> HC Time: Hugo has three other brothers. In order from youngest to oldest is Gabriel, Hugo, Danté, and Matteo. In this AU, Damien is the heir to his syndicate, and the Bloodmarch family has French roots. The Vega family is Italian on the paternal side, and Spanish on the maternal side. Damien's favourite flowers are white chrysanthemums.
> 
> If any of the Italian is wrong I'm so sorry bc I used google.

The first time they met, they were children. They had little knowledge of the details of what their families did, but enough to know what the gist of it was, and what part they would play in it. Damien knew, even at seven, that he was going to run the business one day. He knew he’d make the calls, and keep them afloat amid the filthy water they floated on, keep their position in the sea of filth that the underworld was. He already knew he demanded respect, already knew there was nothing more important to that to him than his appearance, and the bun on his head was too tight. 

 

It pulled at his hair like the shoes pinched his feet and the collar of his dress dug into his neck when he turned his head just so. He ignored it, because his mother said that a perfect appearance hurt, and his father said he had to always look like he was in control, and Damien tried to copy the way his mother held herself tall and pretty and how his father spoke strong and smooth and that was how he walked into the first meeting, how he kept his face carefully passive and his body very still.

 

The room was cold, and the chair was uncomfortable, and the other family was late. He didn’t need a clock to know because the expression on his father’s face said it all, and the way his mother sniffed and looked to the door spoke distaste, and it was hard for Damien not to feel his lips pull into a frown too, but he knew that if he wanted to be a part of something as important as this he needed to look cold. This wasn’t an in-family meeting, and the Bloodmarch’s couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

 

But… it was hard not to fidget, almost. Damien was excited. He hadn’t been allowed in meetings outside of the family before, and he wanted to learn what he’d be expected to do one day. He wanted to meet the people he would work with, the people who made things happen outside of his family. 

 

He pushed hair that wasn’t there behind his ear. His mother put a hand on his shoulder. He stilled, and that was when he heard the voices. 

 

They were loud and he couldn’t understand them, and the footsteps were heavy, and that was when Damien knew they weren’t speaking English. There was a thud, and a new voice said something loudly. It sounded angry. The other voices quieted, and the sounds stopped enough for Damien to hear the knocking. 

 

The door swung open, and there stood a gaggle of people Damien didn’t know, but he was sure he’d heard about, because he always listened in to business talk even when he was told not to. He knew how to creep his way to the stairs without getting caught, and what sounds meant his parents were coming and he needed to crawl into bed as if he’d never left it in time for his mother to check on him. 

 

The tallest man had olive skin, and dark hair that only just starting to grey. He had a big moustache, small glasses  and a relaxed look on his face. He said nothing as he stepped inside the room they were meeting in, and the way his dark suit contrasted with the white of the wall reminded Damien of a shadow. Two boys pushed their way in, then. They were older than him, but they weren’t taller than the first man- Damien guessed they were his sons, because this meeting was supposed to be direct. They had the same hair as him, but their skin was warmer, and they had jackets on over the dress shirts they were wearing. One of them had a bandaid on his nose. 

 

The next two people who followed him weren’t as loud, but they weren’t as similar either; there was another boy, with messy hair and big glasses and wide, honey eyes, and a woman. The woman must be the man’s wife. She was tall, and her hair was pretty. She had a warm expression and big brown eyes, and Damien thought she didn’t belong here, with his greytone family and the dark colours the boys around her wore. 

 

They moved almost as a whole, away from the door with measured steps and the tall man pulled out a chair for his wife while the children sat in what seemed to be a decided order, leaving the boy with glasses across from Damien. His posture was very nice, but he looked like he was tense, and his eyes wouldn’t stop wandering. He wouldn’t do very well here. In this sea of refuse he would probably have drowned by now if his family didn’t have a boat.

 

He didn’t remember what the meeting was about really, not on the ride home when his bun was wilting and his eyes were heavy, but he did remember the boy’s eyes. They were warm and wide, and sometimes Damien would look at him and see him staring at him. They were pretty eyes, and he thought it was a pity that the boy would die one day, because the Vega family was expendable.

 

The next time, neither of them are quite as simple. Damien, for one, stands taller. His face was narrower, his eyes sharper, and he moved with none of the hesitance he once did, wore none of the layers childhood dresses had pushed. He doesn’t notice the pinch in his shoes anymore, has learned for himself how to style his hair so it’s out of his way, and the collars he wears aren’t quite as constrictive. He has his own flair, and although he hasn’t killed anyone yet, he knows how. Knows how to use his elbows and knees, to bite and snarl, has had to escape two kidnapping attempts, and at fourteen he is more dangerous than most boys his age are without even having to have half the muscle. 

 

He has a larger part to play in the business, now, and any illusion he had of the job not being morally wrong is gone. He knows what his family does, and he helps. His bloodline gave him his place in the family, made him the son of the heads, but his smarts and his efficiency made him valuable to the family. Made him useful for more than just bartering. More than his blood.

 

Hugo, for his part, had grown too. While maybe a half-inch separated the two of them, he was wider than he had been as a child, having filled out with muscle as he’d grown, his frame sturdy and balanced. His hair was longer, shaggier, and the glasses had changed from small squares to large circles. He had none of the wonder he had had in his eyes once, had learned to hide the burning curiosity that had once shown plainly on his face, and instead he had learned to pick up on the way people moved. He was rarely in a meeting to listen to a bargain, anymore. 

 

He had new scars, too- a few around his eyes, a couple across his body, thick skin on his knuckles and more than just a writing callous on his hands. Hugo had learned how to be useful in the way that was expected of him, and for all he knew of business, he allowed his eldest brother to speak, because that was the way of his family: Matteo was the eldest, so he would lead and speak, and Hugo would follow and remain silent. It was a separation, a distinction, but it didn’t remove the fact that they were brothers. 

 

__

 

This time, it was a dinner. It wasn’t supposed to be business, but Damien knew his father would make it about business, and Hugo knew his mother loved to be bring up the newest thing that had gone right for them, and there were simply too many hours in these dinners for any of the children to sit through. Thus, there the three of them were, dismissed easily since there was no business- Hugo’s two elder brothers had stayed, but it was his job to look after Gabriel, and Damien was nothing if not curious about how the boy with the pretty eyes had stayed alive for so long.

 

It was the garden they sat in, the large courtyard of the Bloodmarch estate still in the late blooms of summer, and Gabriel had begun to wander as eight year olds were wont to do and the older boys had followed, the width of the path the space between them. 

 

“I thought you’d be dead,” Damien stated after a while, his voice just that bit too loud for the warm evening. He could feel a prickle of heat on his spine, and he regretted having worn his jacket still. “I’ve heard about the fights.”

 

Hugo shrugged in response, his jacket over an arm and his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. He didn’t look at Damien, instead keeping his eyes on his younger brother ahead of them. His hands were in his pockets, but he still felt as if he should be doing something with them. 

 

“I’m good at fighting,” His voice was quiet and steady, and when Damien glanced over he had a small smile on his face. “I’m better at staying alive, though. Lucky, Matteo says.” 

 

Damien snorted, a nasally, soft sound. He stood a little bit taller, flaunting the half inch he had over the other teen. He pushed some hair behind his ear, turning to look at the younger Vega as well. The child was definitely related to the teen by his side; he had the same wayward hair, and the red of his shirt complimented the warm tones of his skin. 

 

“You shouldn’t be fighting. Mother says your family is better than that.” The tone was cold, calculating. He knew this would be about business even away from the table, because that was what his life was. Business, constantly. “Or have you been having difficulties?” 

 

He was pressing his luck. Hugo had tensed, he could see it from the corner of his eye. How far could he push, he wondered, before the other teen snapped? What would he do, knowing that Damien was more important than him, knowing the risk he would take in being harsh with him at all. 

 

“A man is no better than what he asks others to do for him.” The way he said it was calm. Hugo was tense. Something didn’t connect, because these words weren’t his own yet there was no bite in them. “That’s what papa says. Matteo doesn’t listen.” It wasn’t a judgement, it was a statement, and Damien knew that was all he’d get out of the Vega tonight.

 

The younger boy tripped, a grunt coming from him, and Hugo broke step with the taller teen, moving forward and crouching by his baby brother. Damien didn’t understand what he was saying, now, but it didn’t matter- he had a better idea of this boy he only remembered from his eyes, had a better grasp of how the Vega’s were.

 

The little boy had started to cry, and Damien turned away to go back inside while Hugo pulled the child to his feet again. It was too hot outside, and he had no interest in the comfort of a child right now.

 

That night, as he stood in the driveway with his father wishing the family goodbye, those eyes struck him again, and Damien knew that this gentle, angry teen wouldn’t die easily. 

 

__

  
  


There were small meetings, then- sometimes Damien would be sent to check on something and find Hugo there. Sometimes he was bloody, other times he was quiet like that night, and every time Damien found himself more and more curious about this one. Even when he was watching the tangle of limbs on the floor that was the four Vega brothers, because he didn’t understand the appeal of wrestling, but apparently they did and he hadn’t had it in him to make his presence known yet.

  
  


In contrast, Hugo tried not to notice Damien. He was a Bloodmarch, superior to him by the ranks their families used, and it would do him no good to think of him as anything but. It would do him no good to dwell on passing moments, or lingering looks. It wasn’t good for his family or him if he were to find himself enraptured with the sole heir to the Bloodmarch Syndicate, if not because he was simply the third brother of a mid-level family than because there was no way Damien would look at him twice. 

 

There were too many contrasts between them, not to mention the fact that they had had mostly passing conversation. Too many obstacles to make it advantageous to his family, even if it were something more than the fleeting fancy of a teenager. 

 

He was freshly seventeen, after all, only just coming into his own on a more stable level. A barely there moustache, hair ties for the length his hair had gotten, less flimsy frames for his glasses. He had barely found something to call himself other than the third Vega son, and a simple crush on someone was just a part of that, easy enough to brush off as nothing more than youthful thrill seeking.

 

At least, it was too easy to brush off until Matteo’s wedding. 

 

The planning had started a year ago, when Matteo had cleared the proposal with both his family and hers. He’d been lucky- having Mia marry a Vega brought her family up in the power chain, and by marrying into the Ambrossi’s it would give the Vega’s influence in markets they had been trying to break into for a while. The fact that the two had liked each other was simply a happy bonus in personal terms.

 

It was going to be a big celebration, set to happen over three days to get the most of it, and made all the more obnoxious because of the fact that Matteo was the eldest. It wasn’t that Hugo hadn’t been interested to hear the plans, or happy for his brother for getting married, but it had grown tiresome and by the time the first day of it had ended he felt numb to it all. 

 

Until, of course, the Bloodmarch’s had shown up. They had been invited out of courtesy, mostly, and although it would have been expected for Mr. Bloodmarch to make an appearance, the entire family showing up had caused quite a stir, and of course had meant that Hugo had to greet them because he was a brother and that was what custom dictated.

 

It would have been fine. 

 

It would have been fine and dandy, nothing too out of the ordinary considering the way he’d grown up, but then  _ Damien _ had been there and he’d still be taller than him, in a suit that had no right to look that good and instead of looking down on him he’d given him a smile and a handshake. Hugo nearly forgot to say a greeting, and he was really in for it now because  _ Dante _ had seen the way he’d fumbled, which wouldn’t be that bad- he could always put him in a headlock outside if he tried anything, because Dante was fast but had less endurance than Hugo did, even though Dante was older.

 

But of course that wasn’t the end of it- of course they would be seated next to each other at the tall table that evening for the wedding dinner. It made sense, Hugo knew it was nothing more than courtesy towards the friendship their families had shared that had put the Bloodmarch’s there, nothing more than their shared age that meant they would be beside each other and yet…

 

And  _ yet _ it made him sit that bit straighter in his seat, be more aware of slight smudge of dirt he had on the cuff of his dress shirt. Put him on the same edge that he was on when the tension of a deal room was sharper than wire, gave him the same focus that he got when he had time to read. 

 

Damien’s voice had been quiet, hard to hear amid the mixture of languages that swirled in the room, but his head was tilted towards Hugo and that made it easier for him to focus.

 

“What was the phrase they used during the toast?” 

 

There wasn’t any malice in the other boy’s voice, and Hugo met curious brown eyes with his own. He was glad his skin wasn’t as pale as Damien’s, or else he was sure the Bloodmarch would see his flush. 

 

“ _ Pour cent’anni? _ ” Damien nodded, and Hugo couldn’t help the smile that pulled the corners of his lips up, hidden by the small sip of wine he took- it was tradition for everyone to be a part of the first toast, even if they weren’t technically legal. “‘For one hundred years.’ It’s supposed to bring good luck to the couple.”

 

Damien hummed, swirling his own cup as he did, watching the liquid move around the round bowl of it before meeting Hugo’s eyes once more. “And the other one? The one that causes your brother to kiss his wife? What was it… Una bario?”

 

Hugo snorted, eyes crinkling in their corners and he looked down, watching the red wine swirl in Damien’s cup. Followed the motion to long fingers and the way they rested on the wineglass, delicate and relaxed and he knew the silence was dragging. Tore his eyes away and back up to the thin face of the Bloodmarch heir, Hugo pretended his face wasn’t warmer, ignored the spike of heat on the back of his neck and focused instead on the way the curl of hair swayed above Damien’s shoulder. 

 

“No,” He answered finally, clearing his throat. “No,  _ un bachio per la sposa. _ It’s… a thing. Not really tradition, but more of a sudden toast.” Hugo could feel his cheeks heating up, and it was only the curious look on Damien’s face that brought him to continue the explanation. “ ‘A kiss for the bride’, is what it is. Prompts the couple to show everyone a kiss.” 

 

He could feel his resolve waver, the childish crush colouring his face and threatening his voice, and when the Ambrossi sister to his right forced him into conversation he was almost glad of it because it meant he wouldn’t have a chance to ruin anything with the other family, even if he held no interest in her. 

 

She was pretty, yes, with caramel eyes and auburn hair that fell in waves over the deep blue of her dress, but Hugo had long since figured out that girls didn’t hold his fancy. Hugo would give her no more than a polite conversation over dinner.

 

Damien sniffed, looking out and over the crowd of people that filled the hall, all seated at round tables a level below this large one, sipping at his drink as he did so. There were more people here than he thought was safe, but both families had Italian roots and he had heard of large these celebrations got. It put him on edge, though. Too many people that even with an enforced truce contract he couldn’t trust any of them- even with the no weapon policy, he was sure there were knives strapped to thighs or in the soles of shoes. Razor blades hidden in hats and pistols in handbags, it was all the same when one had lived in a world that fed off of violence like a babe with milk. 

 

He looked back to the third Vega brother, the one that had always had such lovely eyes, and he tried to ignore the stab of annoyance he felt at seeing him converse with the young woman beside him, although he wasn’t quite sure where it came from. He held no claim over the other, there was no reason for him to, and yet… Damien felt a smile pull his lips up. He  _ had _ told Mary that he’d give her a story when he saw her next, and what better story than another of this Vega? 

 

Taking a sip of wine for courage, Damien pushed his hair behind his ear and brushed his hand against Hugo’s under the tablecloth, delighting in the slight jolt it caused and giving an easy smile in return to the questioning look.

 

“How do you say that, again?” He inquired, all sweet tones and wide pretty eyes. “ _ Un baro… pour les... spika _ ?”

 

Hugo had sighed, excused himself from conversation with the Ambrossi girl, and reddened more each time Damien moved just that bit too close.

 

__

 

Two years later, at a smaller party of less formal code, Damien had excused himself after dinner to walk through the gardens. It was those gardens, with their faces warm and their hands shaky that Damien had entangled their pinkies, the conversation straying only then from the work of Wilde. They had sat there for nearly an hour, and by the time Gabriel had been sent to find Hugo they had found something.  

 

Damien had left that party with a lightness in his chest, a lingering warmth on his hand and even Mary wouldn’t be able to pry the source of it from him for another month.

  
__

Seven years after the dinner, in a quiet diner over soft words, Hugo had linked their hands together again. This time, instead of the all encompassing warmth Damien had come to find familiar about the Vega, there was a small prickle of chill. A small steel thing, with nothing but the simple engraving of a flower on it. Closer inspection told Damien it was a chrysanthemum and he knew exactly what it meant. 

 

They’d left soon after, a flurry of quiet tears and light chests, hands entangled and metal being warmed by entangled hands and soon enough that was all there was on them. 

 

The next morning they had lain there, tangled in warm cotton and with no thought in the world but each other because life had taken much of their time, but now? Now they would take it back, if only for a morning.

 

A year after that and the matriarchs of both families had left a tearoom with knowing smiles, and now, eleven years after that dinner, Damien lay still and content, watching as the third Vega boy with those honeyed eyes flipped the pages of a well worn book, and he knew that if he were to fall asleep where he was that same man would join him because that was the assurance he had heard for many years.

 

Their world was a sea of filth and blood, and now the boat they would float along it on was one that had been built with the sturdiest of woods, tied with the strongest of bonds, and steered with the steadiest of hands. 

**Author's Note:**

> this took me way to long to write OTL but I lov them n I love this au and I wanna do more in depth things on specific times sometime ;; u ;;


End file.
